


love you like you love me

by teddy_or_something



Series: my mind is against me, but you are always by my side [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji is a Mess, Akaashi Keiji's Birthday, Akaashi's mother - Freeform, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Birthday, Bokuto Koutarou is a Good Significant Other, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, actually I lied it's the entire fic, and his asshole of a father, are only mentioned - Freeform, just a little bitty baby bit, sorry i didn't know which one to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddy_or_something/pseuds/teddy_or_something
Summary: It's minutes before Akaashi's birthday and he's thinking about the past year.Aka Akaashi self-hate hours YEAH
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: my mind is against me, but you are always by my side [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082858
Comments: 2
Kudos: 70





	love you like you love me

**Author's Note:**

> It's not Akaashi's birthday here, but it is in Japan and I just couldn't wait to post this, okay?
> 
> Also, they didn't really have a tag for this, but there's implied/referenced emotional abuse (I may be overstating it but better safe than sorry) where Akaashi thinks about how his dad would call him pathetic. So yeah, be weary of that.

The harsh green glow of the time on the oven was the only illumination in the dark kitchen. Aside from that, you can see barely anything. If the lights were on, however, you would see a counter extending from the left side of the oven with a sink in the middle of it. Then, up against the other wall, there’s a fridge covered in magnets and sticky notes with to-do lists and reminders to grab a bento out of the refrigerator drawer. In the middle of the kitchen sits an island; on it is a bowl filled with several different kinds of fresh fruit, a cell phone turned screen down, and Akaashi Keiji’s elbows as he holds his head in his hands and stares ahead at the oven clock. 

_11:45,_ it reads. 

He sighs, leaning back in the tall swivel chair and staring up at the ceiling. It’s December 4, 2020. He’ll be twenty-five in a few short minutes. And he feels horrible. 

What has he done this year? He’s still a manga editor and no closer to being in literature than he was at 22. He still lives in a small studio apartment that he still can barely afford the rent for. He hasn’t given his mother the grandchildren that she expected to have by now. He isn’t married. He isn’t successful. He isn’t happy. So what has he done this year?

 _11:48_

Nothing. He’s been in the same spot that he’s been in since he was fresh out of university. He should’ve listened to his teachers when they told him to get a teaching licence to go with his literature degree. Maybe then he’d at least be making more money, even if that still wasn’t the field that he wanted to work in. 

Maybe he should’ve quit volleyball like his middle school self wanted him to. Perhaps he’d be somewhere else if he’d have focused on his studies a bit more, rather than wasting away all of his time practicing for hours for nothing in return. And what would've happened if he’d continued playing volleyball? Would he be professional level? Maybe he’d be on the Sendai Frogs with Tsukishima. Maybe he should’ve continued. It wasn’t as if he was bad or anything. Quite the contrary actually. He was very good. 

He huffs to himself. Twenty-five years and he still hasn’t learned that what-ifs are horrible for the soul. 

_11:50_

He’ll never get to do anything in the scenarios he’s fantasizing about anyways. It’s too late. It’s too late for everything, really. It’s too late for him to change careers. It’s too late for him to become a teacher. It’s too late for him to make something of himself. He will forever be stuck in this place, never able to be better. 

_11:52_

And anyways, he doesn’t need to become anything else, or do anything else, or learn anything else. He’s already overwhelmed with what he has. What would adding something new to the mix do? He's already suffering from anxiety and has panic attacks when he gets too close to a deadline. He’s always stressed, always overworked, always stuck in an endless loop of not being able to fucking do anything. Why does he think he can take on anything else? He can’t.

_11:53_

Pathetic. He’s pathetic. That’s what his dad would say, and his mom would say that he was wrong, but it’s true. Keiji is pathetic, down to the last bone in his body, the last drop of blood in his veins, the last thought in his head. He’s pathetic. He doesn’t even do anything all that difficult. He’s just an editor. Maybe he wouldn’t be having these thoughts if he’d have just become a doctor like his parents wanted him to. 

_11:54_

Maybe he’d be something, and he’d have a house and kids and all the other things that his parents wanted for him. But he wouldn’t, so he’s here, and it’s pathetic; he’s pathetic. 

Pathetic, so pathetic. 

_Stop._

_11:55_

_Pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic-_

_Stop it._

_11:56_

_Pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic, so fucking pathetic, worthless, useless, pathetic pathetic pathetic-_

_Fucking STOP._

_11:57_

_11:58_

_11:5-_

“What are you doing in here all alone, baby?” asks a hushed voice from behind him. 

“Just thinking,” he replies. 

Bokuto walks over to him, sitting down in one of the empty chairs. He turns to face him. “Thinking about what?” he asks. Keiji stays silent, willing himself not to cry. Bokuto sees right through him. “Oh, ‘Kaash,” he says, pulling him into a tight embrace. Keiji's will breaks and, suddenly, Bokuto’s shirt is soaked with his tears. 

“I’m such a fuck-up,” he says, voice broken and muffled by the strong chest his face is smushed into. “I haven’t done an- _anything_ noteworthy this year.”

Bokuto smooths a hand over his back, each pass down his spine more calming than the last. “You’re not a fuck-up, ‘Kaashi.”

“I _am_ ,” he sobs, chest heaving with the force of it. He’d be embarrassed if he had half the mind to do so. 

“No you’re not,” says Bokuto firmly. “Just because you haven’t done anything particularly spectacular this year does not mean that you’re a fuck-up. It just means you’re normal. A normal twenty-five year old.”

“I-”

“Keiji.” The younger man goes silent. “You are the smartest, most amazing, most beautiful man I know. Hitting a small bump in the road does not make you any less than.” He pulls Keiji back, using a finger to tilt his chin up and look into his eyes. “You’re incredible. Why are you putting yourself down like this?”

“I just feel like-” he pauses for a moment, but continues speaking a second later. “I feel like I haven't met people’s expectations of me. Like everyday I’m just disappointing my mentors more and more.”

“Have you met your own expectations?” Bokuto asks. “Are you proud of everything you’ve accomplished so far in life? Is any of this coming from _you_ , or is it all just coming from your perception of other people’s perceptions of who you should be and what you should do?”

“I don’t know, Kou,” he says, voice so small it could be a whimper. “I don’t even know.”

Bokuto smiles, pulling him in for a soft, lingering kiss. “Then don’t worry about it, yeah?” he says. “Leave it for another time. You can’t be sad on your birthday.”

Keiji looks over at the clock. _12:05,_ it reads. He’s officially twenty-five. He directs his attention back to Bokuto, who’s gazing at him lovingly. “Okay,” he says, offering the older a small smile. 

Bokuto beams back at him, bringing his hands up to cup Keiji’s cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears wetting them. “Happy birthday, baby,” he says, leaning forward to kiss him softly. “I love you.”

For a moment, Keiji lets everything be okay, lets himself be happy, lets himself be proud of his accomplishments regardless of what anyone else thinks. He’ll most likely come back to this line of thinking… tomorrow, perhaps. For now, though, Bokuto’s right. He can’t be sad on his birthday. 

He catches Bokuto’s lips in another kiss, then another, then another and another and another. He places one on his cheeks, his mouth, his neck, continues this until the other man is giggling. He makes his way back to his lips, not pushing, just feeling them there. When he pulls back, Bokuto is still smiling. Keiji smiles back.

“Thank you,” he says. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of want to write a part two of this with Akaashi revisiting this part of his mind?? Or maybe just a universe full of a bunch of Akaashi overthinking angst and Bokuto comfort for the soul. Maybe I'll even throw a few Bokuto angst fics in there too, jazz it up a bit lol. Anyways, lmk what you think !!


End file.
